


Birds of a Feather

by Razzaroo



Category: Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 10:48:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6371803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razzaroo/pseuds/Razzaroo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They didn’t have much, Johnny and Kit. They had few friends, few possessions, and no heritage to call their own. They had no people. But they had each other and maybe, just maybe, that could carry on being enough for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birds of a Feather

When Kit was born, he was a tiny thing, all screaming lungs and flailing limbs and the lightest dusting of blond hair. Johnny was able to hold him in one arm, even with those wriggling limbs. Kit had accepted the offered bottle, drinking greedily, and Johnny had wondered what this baby would think of him when he grew up and learnt what his family really was.

It must have been hard, to be born to a crook for a father and a mother who was never interested.

Maybe that was why Kit cried so much.

“If you cry too much,” he said, “then your head might burst.”

Kit looked up at him with teary eyes; his little face was red from crying most of the afternoon. Johnny sat in the living room with him, in that worn armchair by the window, Kit’s rocker on the floor in front of him.

“Feel better?” he asked. Kit gave no reply, except to hiccup, “Crying’s no fun. You’ll learn that as you get older.”

Johnny stood to show Kit out the window. A pair of faeries gambolled in the yard, both of them the colour of desert sand. They shrieked like gulls.

“Look at that,” he said, “A big wide world, all for you. Maybe it’s a little scary.” He changed his hold on Kit, so that Kit’s head was on his shoulder, “But you can look forward to that. I’ll show you all the best bits. You won’t have to do it all on your own.”

 

* * *

 

“Wow.”

“Do you think I went overboard?”

“No, not at all. It’s a little girl’s dream bedroom, I’m sure. Just one problem.”

Johnny looked at Anselm, “What?”

“That,” Anselm said, pointing to Kit in his cot, “You said you had a boy.”

“I do have a boy,” Johnny said, “But I had a thought. If any of the Nephilim know about him, they’ll probably know he’s a boy. They’ll be looking for a boy. So he has girls’ clothes. No one can take Kit Herondale if they can’t find him.”

Anselm gave him an odd look, “You’re a Herondale too.”

“Yeah and for my first four years, we had about eleven addresses,” Johnny said, “This at least keeps him in one place. I want him to go to preschool and be a normal kid.”

“Because confusing him about gender identity will definitely make him normal.”

“He’s six months old. He doesn’t even know little boys and little girls have different dirty bits, let alone what gender is.”

Anselm shrugged, “Sure, sure. Daddy knows best. Just don’t let your paranoia ruin your life.” He looked back at Kit, who’d taken to rolling onto his stomach, “Not all Shadowhunters are bad.”

“Not all,” Johnny said, cleaning his glasses on his shirt, “But enough.”

 

* * *

 

The first time Kit laughed, Johnny thought J.M. Barrie had been on to something about faeries.

They were sat in a sunny patch in the garden when it happened. Johnny was holding Kit in his lap, one arm holding his son in place, blowing bubbles for him. The laugh had come like bubbles, building up and rising before bursting out in the air. It had come as somewhat of a surprise.

“And now I can’t get you to stop laughing,” Johnny said, “which isn’t always a bad thing. Better than the crying.”

He laid Kit down for his afternoon sleep but Kit’s new tendency to find everything funny resulted in that bubbling baby laughter, small hands reaching for the mobile that spun overhead. Johnny tried to ignore it, hoping not paying attention would send Kit to sleep quicker. Another burst of laughter made him stop and turn again.

“Why do you find everything so funny?” Johnny said, going back to roll Kit back off of his stomach, “Your mattress is not funny, Kit Kat. You’re not going to sleep today, are you?”

He picked Kit up again, which momentarily stopped the giggles. Tiny fists pulled at his clothes and Johnny cuddled Kit close, breathing in the smell of soap and baby powder.

“I love you, Kit Kat,” he said, cradling Kit and prodding at his chest, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in the world. And that’s saying a lot when you remember caramel chocolate exists.”

 

* * *

 

The first time Kit saw a Shadowhunter, it gave him nightmares.

It was his fifth birthday and they’d come into the market; what they’d been searching for, Johnny didn’t know. He’d recognised the head of the Los Angeles Institute, her husband and his brother. Kit had hidden behind Johnny’s legs and they’d been packed up and gone before the Shadowhunters had even looked in their direction.

“What’s up, chick?” he asked when Kit crawled onto his bed that night, trailing his stuffed raven.

“I had a bad dream,” Kit said, pulling the covers back, “They came back. They took me away.”

“Who did?”

“Shadowhunters.”

Johnny curled up around his son and pulled the blankets up over their hands, creating a cocoon of warmth. Kit’s eyes were dark and wet, his hair erratic.

“Now they can’t get you,” Johnny said, “They can’t get you if they can’t see you.” His hand enveloped Kit’s, “That’s how it works with monsters, right?”

Kit smiled, small in the darkness, “Yeah. That’s how we stop monsters.”

 

* * *

 

Dull days at the market were filled with dull school subjects. Even pulled out of mundane school, Kit wanted to do maths and science instead of spending every minute of his day learning about the Downworld and the people in it.

Johnny let him spread his maths books over the booth, giving him space to scribble out his times tables. A nøkk hovered over him, reeds dripping from his hair, intensely curious. Johnny rocked back on his chair, bored with people watching, ready to offer help if Kit found himself puzzled.

Neither of them noticed the Shadowhunter until Andrew Blackthorn dropped something heavy onto the booth.

“Do you know where this came from?” he asked. Johnny glared.

“A hello would be nice,” he said, “Or a warning. You come from Faerie, you should know these things.”

Something darkened in Andrew’s eyes, as if Johnny had touched upon some secret he’d never told anyone, “This isn’t about that.”

Kit had gone still and silent, his hand locked around his pencil. The nøkk had vanished. Johnny picked up what Andrew had dropped onto his booth; it was a locket of silver and glass, suspended on a long chain. A lock of pale blonde hair was curled beneath the glass and the silver edging was carved with an ornate pattern of forget me nots.

“That was Nerissa’s,” Andrew said, “She was buried with it.”

“All right, cool your engines,” Johnny said, “You scared my boy out of his maths.”

Andrew finally seemed to notice Kit and some of the frustration cooled in his eyes, “Sorry. How old are you?”

“Eight,” Kit said and it was barely above a whisper. Andrew’s face softened further.

“I have twins that age,” he said, “So if you ever need playmates.”

“Why do you have this?” Johnny said, wanting to draw attention back from Kit, “I mean, she’s presumably been dead a while.”

“It was left on my desk. I just want to know who stole it from her grave.” Andrew seemed on the verge of tears, “I don’t need this right now.”

Everyone in LA had heard by now about the sad fate that had befallen Eleanor Blackthorn. No matter what the opinion of Shadowhunters were, near everyone agreed it was hardly fair. Johnny weighed the locket in his palm as Kit gathered his maths books to tuck himself into his father’s lap.

“I’ll find out for you,” Johnny said, “Secrets struggle to hide from me. Do you want me to just tell you or deliver the culprit to your doorstep?”

“Whichever you want,” Andrew said, “I just…want her to be left alone.”

“It’ll be done,” Johnny said, “Go home to your herd. I’ll find out for you.”

He set the locket back down and wrapped his arms around Kit, shielding him from his childhood monsters, watching Andrew go. After a moment’s hesitation, he called out.

“Blackthorn!” Andrew stopped and turned, one eyebrow raised. Johnny coughed, “I’m sorry to hear about what happened to your wife.”

Andrew simply nodded before he carried on, gone from the market in moments. Kit looked up at his father.

“You were nice to him,” he said.

“Sometimes, chick,” Johnny said, “You need to be nice. Even Shadowhunters drop their masks and need to be people sometimes.”

 

* * *

 

 The house was dark and quiet when Johnny came back. He’d left Kit at home; a bad cold and a world still reeling from the actions of Jonathan Morgenstern meant he’d felt it was better leaving Kit in bed, where he was safe.

He locked the door and kicked his shoes off before leaning heavily against the wall. His chest hurt and anger still bubbled in his chest. There had been a raid on the market that day; the faeries peddling their wares had been rounded up and herded off by a group of Shadowhunters. Those who’d come back had come back bloodied and beaten, shouldering the blame for the actions of a Shadowhunter who the Clave refused to accept as one of their own breed.

Johnny hated them.

He glanced up the stairs, up to where he’d left Kit sleeping. Quietly, he made his way up and slipped into his son’s bedroom. Kit was sat in bed, reading, his nose reddened from where’d he’d been rubbing it; his cheeks were flushed with temperature.

“Dad?” he put his book aside when Johnny sat on the bed next to him and wheezed a little when his father scooped him up in a hug, “What are you doing?”

Johnny said nothing. He buried his face in Kit’s hair and he thought. He thought of the Folk, stripped of their dignity and punished for what the Circle had created; he thought of the faery children who would grow up without parents, orphaned because the Clave decided to implement the death penalty on faeries alone. He thought of the Shadowhunter children, a new generation to be trained to hate people who were different from them. He thought of the Blackthorns, of Andrew Blackthorn’s twins who were Kit’s age, left alone in the world. He thought of them all and he couldn’t keep the tears from burning his eyes.

Silently, Kit reached for the thick throw lay over the foot of his bed and pulled it over the two of them, creating a thick cave of blue. Johnny couldn’t help but smile.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked and Kit nodded before wrapping his arms around his father’s neck.

They didn’t have much, him and Kit. They had few friends, few possessions, and no heritage to call their own. They had no people.

But they had each other and maybe, just maybe, that could carry on being enough for them.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel protective over Kit Rook. I'm a leader of the resistance movement to help him stay a corvid and keep him from being indoctrinated to join the Shadowhunters. Membership is open, please ask your parents permission.


End file.
